


Astray

by st_aurafina



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 04:12:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17134721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/pseuds/st_aurafina
Summary: Harold has managed to collar an angel, but who is leading who astray?





	Astray

**Author's Note:**

> Fic entirely inspired by Mulasawala's art.

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=25080bb)

"It feels strange." John tugs at the collar around his neck. Angels are perfect beings and perfect beings have no need of adornment so John has never been clothed, not in the whole of his existence. To cover God's perfection would be a blasphemy.

Harold clears his throat and forces himself to be calm. It's painful to manifest in this realm, bathed as it is in God's grace, and his skin stings in the cool air. He slides his fingers between the narrow collar and John's flawless skin, helping the magical band settle into position more comfortably. Harold knew this part of the plan would be difficult: angels are innocent but not stupid. It has taken a lot of finagling to convince John to let himself be leashed this way. 

"It has to fit closely, to do its work," Harold says. "You want to help me save people, don't you?" 

John's answer is immediate. "Of course," he says, watching Harold with eyes that are deep and blue, clear like the purest water. 

"The collar will allow you to leave this place and still hide your true form," Harold reminds him. "If you were to appear on Earth as you are, there would be panic. Innocents could be hurt, and you don't want that." 

"No," says John, simply. His calm is eerie to Harold. Where Harold is from, it's more usual to see people suffering, people in desperation or crawling in shame. It's startling to have his words taken at face value. 

When Harold gathers the leash in his hand – "To guide you," he tells John. "So you don't become lost on the journey to Earth…" – John shivers and looks at his arms, where gooseflesh has risen up. 

"Does it hurt?" Harold asks, worried. He can cause pain. As a demon, pain is part of his arsenal but Harold has always preferred to wield logic as a weapon. He can't predict with complete accuracy the effect this collar will have on an angel, and angels in pain are… well. Terrible is a word much misused these days, but in the original sense, it would be terrible were John to be injured on this realm. God's wrath is never far away here. 

John rubs his arm with one hand. "No," he says. "I feel…" He frowns, perplexed by the idea of selecting a word to explain himself. He is used to being openly read by his God, to be ordered into action, to be told what to feel. 

Harold cups his face gently, and John leans into the warmth of his hand. "As long as you are not hurt." 

A smile wreathes John's face: open and honest in a way that makes Harold want to squirm. John doesn't know the things Harold has done in the name of logic. 

Harold isn't even sure John could comprehend the insidious nature of Harold's sins. Harold has built engines that steal truths, and handed the keys to worse demons than him. He was told it was for the sake of a better world. He wonders sometimes whether he really believed them. Maybe he convinced himself so he could be the one to create such wonders. A cardinal sin, pride. 

Not that John's hands are as pristine as they appear. Angels have killed swathes of humans in God's wars, and Harold has seen John sweep across battlefields, flaming sword in action. Terrible is the right word here. These are not sins, of course. Those deaths were ordered by God, and – Harold has to quell a cynical laugh, because that would certainly garner attention up here – all of God's actions are righteous by definition. John's hand might drip with blood, but they are clean of sin. 

Harold jumps: John has pressed their foreheads together, cool skin against his warmth. All he can see is the blue of John's eyes, the stillness and the peace there, but he's suddenly aware of the strength in John's body. Harold has harnessed that strength for now, and he wants to do good with it, he really does, but he doesn't trust himself not to abuse this power. He has made so many mistakes in the past, trusted the wrong people. And what use is good done deceitfully anyway? 

"I know what you are," John says, voice still unnaturally calm, but his hand brushes the leathery wingtips, the serpentine tail that is shockingly red in this cool blue place. "I know it must be painful for you to be here. You wouldn't do that selfishly. It's why I let you put the collar on, after all." His smile is surprisingly wry for a being such as him. "It helps that you asked first." 

"I haven't always done good," Harold starts, and John kisses him quiet. Shocked – it isn't entirely a pure gesture – Harold stares at him and John smiles again. 

"Nobody has. Nobody can be perfectly good, except…" he shrugs his wings upwards, a quick flick of white feathers towards the higher clouds, where the great court is. "You are secretive. I can't read you at all but I think it would be easier for you if I knew a little of your plans." 

"The work I've done is harming innocents on Earth," Harold says. "I won't have lives stolen by the tool I built." Anyone who knows demons would append "without my consent" to that statement, but to be honest, Harold has never had a taste for bloodshed and as the aeons pass, he likes it less and less. He's not sure what that says about him as a demon. Probably he's not a very good one, which carries its own irony. 

"You're still sad," John says, brushing Harold's temple with his fingertips. "We should go before someone notices." Of course – nobody is sad in God's kingdom, Harold thinks bitterly. 

John spreads his wings and there is sudden dimming of the brightness of Heaven as they cast a shadow over them both. Harold's eyes sting; he hadn't realised how much he had been squinting. John gathers Harold up in his arms, wraps him in white feathers that cool his skin and ease his pain, then the two of them fall to Earth.


End file.
